


tell me what i feel is real (tell me that you feel it too)

by tommyglued



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And they were roommates...., Artist Newt (Maze Runner), Bisexual Thomas (Maze Runner), Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Newt (Maze Runner), Hopeful Ending, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, actually theyre both fucking clueless its not even that its unrequited, also i dont know how american dorms work so i based this on my experience oop, but it's a Good Vibe overall, discussions of mental health, late night heart to hearts, one time they get drunk but its wholesome i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommyglued/pseuds/tommyglued
Summary: Everything starts with a realization thatmaybeit's not usual to draw your best friend all the time.or, Newt is a senior in college, Thomas a junior, and they've been sharing a dorm room for three years. Feelings Occur, but they refuse to admit it. Fun!
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner), sonya/harriet also mentioned, teresa/brenda make a guest appearance
Comments: 27
Kudos: 70
Collections: Maze Runner Secret Santa 2020





	1. i think i'm falling,

**Author's Note:**

  * For [newtedison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtedison/gifts).



> disclaimer: the tag says "modern setting", but miss corona doesn't exist here. you're welcome

_comfortable in its familiarity, isn't it?_

_embroidered delicately into the threads of your memory, isn't it?_

_you know you're the one who weaved those strings in, don't you?_

_with art comes love for the art._

_beautiful, isn't it?_

_terrifying, isn't it?_

There's a boy who paints the same face every time a brush lands on his canvas. It comes naturally, unquestionably. That same face looks at him from across the room and pouts in thought. Newt smiles and plucks his earbuds out, grateful for an invitation to bother his brain with troubles that aren't his own and asks, 

"What's on your mind, Tommy?"

"You ever think about how lonely whales must be?" 

He blinks those sad doe eyes at him, and Newt can't help but wonder how long he's been thinking about this. He arches an eyebrow and turns to face Thomas fully, abandoning his project.

"Whales? Don't they live in family groups, like dolphins?" 

"Yes, but," and now he grows visibly upset so he flops down on his bed and stares at the ceiling, "sometimes when the mother dies the baby whale is left alone and it has to figure out the world by itself and it can't even sleep right because if it doesn't pay attention it will sink to the bottom of the ocean and whales usually look out for each other when sleeping and sleep in turns and and so it will be completely alone in an enormous ocean until it comes across another whale and whale populations are declining so its chances are getting slimmer so what if that little whale spends its whole life alone crying out for someone but no one answers because the ocean is so fucking big? Like?"

Thomas gestures vaguely around them, like he'll materialize an answer to his undoubtedly very concerning monologue, and wipes away his tears hastily, sniffing loudly instead of blowing his nose like a normal human being. Newt doesn't bother him about it this time. 

"I'm sure that doesn't happen so often. After all, there's probably more whales in the family who can care for the little one, right?" 

Newt truly doesn't know jack shit about whales other than a few facts he remembers from random documentaries he's watched with his sister back when they were obsessed with animal planet, but luckily, Thomas nods. He doesn't add anything else, and Thomas keeps staring blankly at the glow-in-the-dark stars that aren't glowing yet. 

It was the first decoration he put up after he moved in, when Newt knew only 2 things: his new roommate was an engineering student, and a freshman at that. And, apparently, couldn't live without fake stars glued to his ceiling. 

Little did he know that that same engineering student would soon grow to be his closest friend, and that his day wouldn't feel complete without an unprompted rant or two. 

This time, however… It didn't feel right.

The warm glow of the setting Sun shifts gently, sliding onto Thomas's right cheek. As he closes his eyes, a couple of tears roll down into his hair, shining ever so briefly. Weirdly, they remind Newt of a shooting star. 

"Tommy?" 

"Hnm?" 

"Do you feel like this? Are you lonely?"

"Hm," he mumbles, turning to his side and planting a hand under his head where the tears used to be. Again, his eyes don't meet Newt's. He's never been embarrassed of crying before. 

"No, I don't think so. I just remembered this play that I saw with Teresa a couple months ago. It's called _The Loneliest Whale In The World_ but the whale was just a metaphor. Like a parallel storyline to help you understand the main one better? I invited you to come too, remember?"

He does. "'Course I do. I had a whole ass project due that evening that I hadn't started on though, so tragically I couldn't come."

Finally, a laugh. "It _is_ a tragedy! You would've loved it, I'm sure. It's very intricate and depressing."

At this, Newt bursts into laughter. "Well, you know me." 

"I do." 

Maybe it was the way he said it, or the emotional residue from his whale meltdown, but at that moment he seemed so vulnerable, Newt was afraid he'd strip the last feeble layer of secrecy off him if he breathed too loudly, or moved too suddenly, or, heavens forbid, said something. 

_It feels significant_ , he thinks, but he's too stunned to figure it out. 

Thomas opens his mouth to speak then, but closes it quickly, furrowing his eyebrows. 

"Uh.. Know what, I'm gonna go for a run," he says, jumping out the bed. "Clear my head a bit. That was waaay too much thinking for me," he rambles on as he jumps into his running sweats and shoes, "should've done my assignments instead, I haven't started any of them and they're all due like the day after tomorrow so of course I had an existential crisis because why the fuck not and-" 

"Tommy." 

Thomas stops in his tracks, hands frozen mid-gesture. He takes one look at Newt and relaxes, sighing deeply, and leans on the door. 

"Fuck. I know. I know." He takes another breath before adding,

"Thanks for listening to whatever that," gestures vaguely to his bed, "was, too." 

"Of course." 

As Thomas turns to leave, Newt blurts, 

"You can talk to me about these things, y'know?" 

He's on the edge of his chair, ready to run after him and shake him or hug him or- Just Let Him Know. He needs to know. It's a miracle if he doesn't, but Newt needs to make sure he does. Everyone needs a reminder sometimes. 

Thomas then smiles, and the world tilts back onto its axis.

"Course, Newt. Thanks." 

And with that, he leaves. 

A troubled art student sits in his dorm room, putting aside one canvas and starting on the next. He paints a boy in watercolour - floating in the ocean that reflects the night sky. If you looked at it from a distance, it would look like he's sleeping peacefully, enveloped in the comfort of a bed way too large for him. If you came closer, though, you'd notice there were shooting stars falling out the corners of his eyes. The artist calls this piece _Loneliness._

⭐⭐⭐

_your chest is heavy with this Thing that just won't stay still._

_it flutters, clenches, keeps your breath out of your lungs._

_it wants attention._

_but you are scared._

_you already know what it is. it knows you do, too._

_maybe if you ignore it, it will go away._

_(but nothing ever does.)_

Their room is pretty cosy, Newt admits. There's lots of potted plants and vines hanging from various elevated surfaces (his contribution), stacks of CDs and vinyls (a shared collection of top tier music only), the ratty old curtains Minho spilled wine on the year before that cover a large window overlooking campus grounds, the overflowing shelf of used books Thomas never has time to read, miscellaneous collages and posters taped on the walls, a guitar someone left after a party and never came back for, formulae and graphs scribbled on sticky notes and additionally taped above Thomas's desk with criminal amounts of sellotape, a wardrobe of Newt's clothes Thomas had no shame stealing (or, in his words, free thrifting), a messy collection of art supplies and, of course, the fake stars they are looking at right now, sprawled on the carpet between their beds, comfortably drunk on wine. 

In other words, it feels like home. 

Something tickles him, so Newt pushes the hairs sticking out of his french braids away from his ears and continues to watch the stars. The Japanese House plays from a room down the hall. Thomas's arm lies so close to his that he practically feels the heat radiating off of him. The cruel hardness of the floor is the only thing keeping him awake. 

"Newt?" 

"Mm?" 

"When I first met you, I thought you'd be boring as hell." 

And just like that, Newt bursts out laughing. "Oh, so it's that kind of a night? Okay." 

"No, seriously!" 

When he laughs even harder, Thomas elbows him into the side.

"Ow!"

"Fuck you," Thomas says, but there's no heat to it. 

"No, no. Go on. I want to know what the thought process was behind that one." 

He turns to his side to look at Thomas, who mirrors him. Even though the only light in the room is provided by low wattage nightstand lamps, Newt can see every single freckle on Thomas's nose. He looks at Newt intently, and then says, very slowly, 

"Actually, I thought you were super pretentious."

Which just about does it for him. Whether it's the absurdity, the serious tone with which Thomas delivered the verdict or the wine, he laughs so hard his stomach hurts and tears well up in his eyes. It doesn't help that Thomas joins in, and they drag each other in, back and forth, until, at long last, they gather a few wits to hold on to and catch their breath. 

"Wait, I wanna understand this. Was it 'cause of my clothes? Art?" 

Thomas keeps quiet for a suspicious amount of time, so he turns to him again, and finds him looking apologetically back at him. 

"Oh, no."

"Hear me out." 

"Stop, I can't laugh anymore." 

"I thought all British people were pretentious because they thought their accents made them superior." 

And that is how Newt ends up screaming into his hands for another period of time.

"Where the fuck did you hear this?"

"Man, I don't know. My hometown is weird as shit. Could've been anyone." 

"I can't believe you thought that for 19 years." 

"How was I supposed to know, I'd never met a British person before!" 

"Tommy. What the fuck." 

"Oh shut up. I'm a scientist, I need proof to dispute a belief." 

"No, twat, you're an engineer."

"Your point?" 

"You're not a scientist." 

"I still need science. It's called _rocket science_ and it's still engineering." 

"But it's not- Whatever. I can't argue when I'm drunk. Now _my_ turn."

Thomas snorts, but lets it slide. 

"I'm all ears." 

Newt props himself up into a cross-legged position and steals a glance at Thomas, who lounges in front of him like a rich citizen of ancient Rome, head propped up with a slender hand. He almost expects a bowl of grapes to materialize in front of him.

"I actually," Newt starts, a giggle bubbling out of him, "I actually thought you were gonna have, like, an elitist complex because - stop! listen!" - he swats at his friend, whose laughter has grown high pitched, "I have valid reasons!" 

"And mine weren't?" 

"No." 

Thomas's mouth falls open in a mock shock as he puts a hand to his wounded heart. Newt is pretty sure he lied when he said he'd never been into theatre. 

" _Anyway_ , engineers usually think they're better than everyone, especially humanities students, just 'cause their studies are the hardest. Engineers and med students, that is." 

"Fuck. I can't even laugh at you for that one." 

In a defeated fashion, Thomas lowers his head to the floor and, inevitably, turns his gaze up to the fake stars. As the warm glow of his salt lamp sharpens his features, something clenches inside Newt's chest and he says without thinking, 

"I really lucked out with you, though." 

At that, Thomas turns, and just looks at Newt for a long time. He doesn't mind. Then he just smirks and replies, 

"'Course you did, I'm awesome." 

It coaxes a laugh out of Newt. "The linguistics minor saved you, for sure." 

"And not my irresistible charm and flashy personality?" 

"Hm." 

An offended gasp. 

"Newt!" 

A hearty laugh.

"Your dog comes second after that." 

"That's fair." 

"And you're okay, I guess." 

A nudge to Newt's knee with the heel of his foot. "Asshole."

Which earns him a grin.

A comfortable silence falls, where Newt leans his head back on his bed, closing his eyes. He feels something tugging at his leg and peeks to find Thomas playing absent-mindedly with a loose string hanging feebly from his pajama bottoms. Slowly, a smile stretches his lips into a grin. Newt already knows what's coming next. And, tragically, he knows he's gonna do it before he even hears it. 

"Whatever it is, no." 

"This is a good one." 

"I highly doubt it." 

"Let's go to the roof." 

"Tommy. Genuinely, what the fuck." 

Thomas is, of course, unfazed, grinning even wider. 

"Come onnnnn! The sky's clear tonight."

"It's the beginning of fucking December, Tommy. It's freezing outside." 

"We won't stay long." 

He's already sold, but feigns resistance anyway. He's so predictable, he thinks, but that's Thomas and he'd follow him into any questionable quest he cooks up because he'd never let anyone else drag him out of his comfort zone so swiftly. 

It _is_ pretty tempting, after all. 

So, at last, after a light wrestling match when Thomas lunges at his side and topples him over as the last measure in convincing, the period on his non-existent argument to why exactly Newt should accept to engage in such an activity, he caves in. They leave the room as quietly as they can and climb up the stairs until finally, they reach the last floor. The door opens with a loud creak, and they both cringe at the sudden noise. Before walking out, they turn off all the lights in the hallway and the ones leading to the roof, and find their paths using lights from their phones. After Newt sets their blankets down and they both roll into them, they turn off their phones and wait. It takes a couple of minutes for their eyes to adjust, but when they do, words fail him. There's something inexplicable about sharing an experience so humbling and intimate.

He's seen the night sky before, when he was younger. It was a camping trip in middle school with his family and a childhood friend he doesn't talk to anymore.

Then, the sky was inviting, a challenge and an opportunity. 

Now, it seemed to Know him. 

After a while, Thomas breaks the silence with a whisper, 

"Y'know why I love stargazing so much?" 

He feels his eyes on him, so he turns to return the gaze. The question hangs between them monumentally, its importance weighing on Newt's chest. He shakes his head slowly as an answer. 

"There are billions of galaxies with billions of stars in each of them, whose light had traveled, in some cases, billions of years to reach us. There is an even bigger number of planets orbiting around most of those stars. Some people think this makes us insignificant, but I think it makes us lucky. Privileged even, to have been born at such a perfect time to explore the universe, and to see its history by just looking up. So this universal wonder and admiration reminds me that I'll never be alone, because there is and always will be another human being looking at the stars. Which is also why I brought them to college with me. I had no idea when I'd make real, close friends, and I didn't want to feel alone again. Which is a story for another time. But then I met you, and I've never felt alone for a second."

If he weren't afraid of getting his eyes frozen, Newt thought, he'd be crying right now. Instead, he does his best at swallowing them, and croaks a pathetic, "Jesus, Tommy," before turning back to the sky, hastily trying to form an actual appropriate answer. 

He hears him shift slightly before saying, 

"I'm just glad I have you in my life." 

"I'm glad I have you in my life, too," Newt adds immediately, and when he turns back to Thomas, he finds him looking at him with the emotion he'd seen only once before. But he's far too cautious to hope, to even dare think in that direction. He's been hurt way too many times to jump to conclusions, especially when it comes to one of the people he cares about the most. 

"Let's go back inside," he suggests, "Colds don't mix well with hangovers." 

Thomas smiles, and it's too dark for Newt to see if it made it to his eyes or not. 

"That's probably a good idea." 

Early in the morning, while his roommate was soundly asleep, an art student pulled a painting called _Loneliness_ out of his drawer. In the pool of reflected stars, next to the sleeping boy, he added another, blond one, who faced the opposite side of the canvas. His long hair caught the falling stars as he, too, slept peacefully. Finally, as his roommate made the first signs of waking up, he crossed out the _Loneliness_ and wrote _Companionship._


	2. i'm falling for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for mentioned past depression!! it's only one sentence but just to be safe

_it is done, and you know it._

_you don't have to accept it yet._

_truth is heavy, though, and it’s hard carrying it without causing attention._

_aren't you the one calling on honesty all the time?_

_you don't want it turning against you, do you?_

_it's alright. we're all a bit of a hypocrite sometimes. but be careful-_

_you can make yourself an armour of art to cover your bleeding fingers, but remember -_

_blood leaks and leaves stains._

_and armours are heavy, too._

_you are not invincible._

_when you take your armour off, be ready. you might need a few stitches._

The finals season is in its full blow, which means several things have come back into fashion - crying and stress being the leading trends. However, Newt and Thomas are adults, so naturally they have accumulated some knowledge over the years as to how to deal with these situations. 

For example,

Scene one;

Newt buys an extra box of Cleenex because he knows Thomas will forget to do so for himself. He places it next to him as he sobs softly over his Computational Modelling and Data Analysis textbook, barely visible under the Christmas themed blanket he's wrapped in. He mumbles a "Thanks" and plucks a tissue out, blowing his nose. 

In the evening, Newt makes Thomas's favourite soup (potato cream soup, with a dash of dill, boiling hot because he has probably burned all of his nerves off by now) and they watch Star Trek together until Thomas's head starts slipping off his shoulder and he gently, reluctantly, shakes him awake. 

For example,

Scene two;

As Newt rubs his face and sighs deeply in frustration because nothing he paints looks like he wants it to, a steaming mug of his comfort tea lands right next to him, along with Thomas flopping onto his bed with a question,

"Need a second opinion?"

To which Newt readily moves aside so Thomas can take his place at the desk and give him his honest interpretation. If he focuses too long on Thomas's finger running over his lip while he thinks, that's no one's business. And even though Thomas is far from an expert, an open conversation about the piece with someone who hasn't been looking at it for 5 consecutive hours and gotten fairly sick of it always gives him a new perspective, which he's grateful for. 

For example, 

Scene three;

Thomas is facetiming Teresa, trying to find an error in his code, and judging by an occasional muffled scream, he's not making much progress. Newt, on the other hand, unties his hair and puts it back up in a bun for the millionth time that day, trying his darndest not to give into the temptation of turning the page on the taxonomic classification of seemingly every single plant in existence that he should know by heart by now. 

Truth be told, this is not what he thought Plant Diversity and Evolution course would consist of, but then again, his only thought while applying for a Botany minor was, simply, _I like plants._ Perhaps he should have thought it through. 

Or chosen a different course.

Just as he slaps his folder of notes shut, giving up for the day, Thomas closes his laptop with the same vigour. Somehow, they always end up being in sync in one way or another. 

Which is also how they eventually decide to walk to the local pizza place and pick up their order instead of having it delivered to the dorm, both of them needing some physical activity after seriously slacking at it for the past few weeks. 

What they hadn't thought about, though, was that said pizza would be freezing cold by the time they got back. 

Cold pizza and The Great British Bake Off, anyone? 

Or, 

Scene four;

Thomas bursts through the door, almost sending Newt into cardiac arrest, and proclaims, 

"You're going to a party." 

"I don't remember making that decision?"

"I'm making it for you." 

"Sure you are." 

He leans on the door, arms crossed, and pouts. One of Newt's recently bought woollen jumpers hangs loosely around his frame. Seems like that one has been free thrifted as well. 

(He may or may not have bought it knowing Thomas would like it enough to steal it.) 

"Aww, c'mon, Newt. Everyone's down in the common room. You're the only one missing. _And,_ you've been in this room for days. You need to get out." 

For a moment, Newt turns back to a mess of vague notes occupying his desk and his unfinished essay staring at him sadly from his laptop screen, and sighs. He's tired, stifling a headache with an ibuprofen and the essay is due midnight. He _can_ afford taking a break for an hour or two, right? 

Thomas, still leaning on the door, reaches out a hand and wiggles his fingers. Newt diverts his eyes, the sight of Thomas's outstretched hand unbearable for some reason, and stands up. 

"Okay, okay. I'm going." 

In an instant, Thomas lights up and punches a victorious "Yes!" into the air, prompting an eye roll from Newt despite his lips betraying him with a smile. 

It’s not a party per se - his entire friend group is in one place, sure, but absolutely no one is dressed up except Minho, who always has to look immaculate or he'll die, probably. He occupies his usual armchair across from Newt, somehow managing to sit with a leg propped up without ripping his jeans, or simply going insane with discomfort.

("Some people buy jeans that are _comfortable,_ Newt." 

"Jeans are inherently uncomfortable, Minho.") 

He's missed him, though, so he gladly catches up with him, the rest eventually joining in on the conversation. Really, he's missed them all quite terribly - he can't even remember the last time he's seen Fry - but slowly, he grows quiet, and instead watches his friends - his little chosen family - ramble on, sporting dark eyebags, sipping on coffee and munching on Fry's latest delicacy. Just being around them gives him the serotonin boost he hasn't experienced in a while. 

Speaking of eyebags, the only person who's getting a decent amount of sleep is, unsurprisingly, Teresa, whose supreme time management skills still intimidate Newt, even after years of knowing her. To his left, she shares an armchair with Brenda, who's very conveniently slung one leg over an armrest to make room for her girlfriend. While she's busy bickering with Minho, Brenda holds out a hand to him and asks, 

"How are you, Newt?"

It’s a habit they've picked up not long after they met, which always warms his heart. When she asks, he knows she means it. It's one of the things he loves the most about his friends. 

He takes her hand and answers, 

"Royally tired and ready for holidays. And you?" 

"Oh, same here. It's been way too long since I've done something not uni related, so naturally I jumped right onto the opportunity to socialize. I think we all needed a little break." 

"Yeah, definitely." 

"Besides," she adds, curling her other arm around Teresa's waist and leaning into her, "I'm taking Resa home with me for Christmas!" 

He's about to burst as he squeezes her hand and exclaims, 

"Bren, that's wonderful! Holy shit, I'm so happy for you both!"

Frypan: "What's going on?"

Thomas: "Who- What-" 

Minho: "Who's getting married?"

Which prompts a hearty laughter from Newt and the girls. 

"No one's getting married," Teresa says, "... Yet. But yeah, I'm gonna be meeting Bren's family this Christmas!" 

To which the room erupts with joy. It took a while for Brenda's family to accept her, especially after she snapped and got a buzzcut, a septum, and several tattoos shortly after coming out, ticking off the rest of the Forbidden Behaviour checklist her parents and relatives lived by - only her uncle Jorge sticking by her side. But finally, after almost a year, they contacted her again and apologized, promising to do better. This invitation was a huge step for all of them. 

"I did tell them not to expect much, since she's only dating me so she could ride with me on my sexy motorbike."

Laughter ensues as Teresa shrugs, leaning back and curling a hand over Brenda's short hair. As she says, 

"It's true. I do," 

and everyone's laughter reaches Newt as though through a body of water, he can't help but think how much Thomas enjoys having fingers run through his hair too. For some reason, he turns to find him already looking at him, just for a moment, before looking away. Newt's face heats up, inexplicably and involuntarily, and he can't shake the feeling that he's missing something. 

It was just a coincidence. 

Right? 

Later that evening, when they have reached the stage of sharing childhood memories, Thomas stands up from his spot on the floor and walks over to Newt. He stops behind him and rests his arms on the headrest, lowering his head to ask in a low voice, 

"Maybe you should let me make more decisions for you." 

Newt laughs softly, inclining his head up toward Thomas. 

"Don't flatter yourself." 

And after a moment, he adds, "But thanks for dragging me out." 

He can picture Thomas smiling as he says, "No problem."

He straightens up then, and just as Newt thinks he's going to sit back again, he feels slender fingers pull on his hair tie. 

"Can I?"

"Sure, go ahead." 

So Thomas lets his hair down and runs it through his fingers carefully, untying the knots skillfully, painlessly, and as he starts braiding it, something inside Newt breaks, like a dam, like a knee buckling under the weight of the world, and all he wants is to cry. 

He can't explain it, but he feels it's been a long time coming. 

He meets Minho's gaze, blurred by tears he can't swallow or hide, and he knows the look on his face even though he can't see it. 

In a daze, half blind by tears that won't stop falling, he mumbles an apology and runs away, faintly hearing Minho's _Give him some space, okay?_

God, how embarrassing. 

How stupid. 

He curls up in the shower and cries until the water turns cold.

Then, he sits back down at his desk and finishes his essay. By the time Thomas tiptoes back in, Newt has long been lying in bed, pretending to be asleep. 

**Teresa Agnes**

**Wednesday, 12/16/2020**

_9:21pm_

hey newt, how are you?

im so so sorry if i said something that triggered you or upset you

childhoods can be pretty tough

please let me know how you're doing

or if you need anything

_11:36pm_

Hey Teresa

Don't worry, you didn't upset me

I was just really tired haha

Nothing a good night's sleep can't fix

oh, okay 

hope you get that sleep then!! 

also.. 

I will

? 

tom would kill me if he knew i was telling you this

but in this case i think you should know

he's been really worried about you 

told me you weren't eating or sleeping much this week

so he invited us all for a meetup, hoping it would lift your spirits a little

and give you an excuse for a much needed break 

of course we agreed

so just know that we've got your back

and please take care of yourself 

your health is much more important than uni

❤️

  
  


"Newt?" 

"Mm?"

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure." 

"Are _you_ lonely?" 

A pause. 

"No, Tommy. I can't be lonely if I have you around."

  
  


An art student crawled through the last week of his second to last semester. If he wasn't going over his notes or painting, he was taking long walks alone, cruel winter winds biting his cheeks and coating him in snow. He took great care to reassure his roommate that he was fine, and made sure neither the roommate nor the rest of his friends were slacking at self care either. On the morning of his flight back home, he picked up his bags and walked to the door, but then thought better of it and put them down. Instead, he walked back to his desk and pulled out a painting labelled _~~Loneliness~~ Companionship _ , and looked at it for some time. Then, he crossed out _Companionship_ and wrote _Love_. After that, he turned, slinging his bags over his shoulder and leaving, forgetting about the painting that still laid on his desk. When his roommate woke up, curious, he sneaked a look at the painting, then took it in his hands and sat on the floor, looking at it for a long time. Then, he placed it in the firmest folder he could find, put it in his bag and called a friend. 

"Minho, I need your car. Right now. It's an emergency."

⭐⭐⭐

_you're in love with your best friend_

_and it's scarier than any other kind of love you've experienced before because_

_if by some chance you let him see you_

_really See you, the whole picture,_

_and if your heart gets broken anyway_

_it will be by a poisonous knife_

_very ugly and personal and intimate_

_and you won't be able to cry about it for half a year and eventually move on_

_sewing up your wounds and nurturing them until they heal_

_distancing yourself from the experience like from a bad dream ;_

_no, you'll be bleeding until your veins are dry_

_until you're so transparent you become invisible_

_because,_

_if the person who knows you best gives up on loving you,_

_who won't?_

Christmas music plays softly from the speakers, drowned out by the chatter of people moving this way and that, clunky suitcases rolling their tiny metallic wheels in an obnoxiously loud manner as their owners push them hastily, rushing through crowds so as not to miss their flight. Newt sits in a chair, one in a row of many, sketching his surroundings. 

He's not a fan of airports - too crowded and chaotic for his taste - and can't help but feel removed as people around him come and go, boarding their flights in groups or alone, and he stays there, unmoving. He realizes the word he's looking for is loneliness, and his mind immediately jumps to Thomas. 

As it often did, in the last week or so.

He's been thinking. A lot. And the conclusion he's come to is that he needs to get over those feelings, somehow. Otherwise, he'll ruin everything. 

Much easier said than done. 

He remembers how he has only one semester left, 4 more months until he has to move out, and thinks how fiercely he hates the idea of Thomas living with anyone else than him, of sharing even the slightest part of what they have with a faceless new person.

He thinks of early mornings and painting while Thomas sleeps, and how he half-consciously mumbles _mornin', sunshine_ as he wakes up, hugging the covers closer as if to soak up the warmth before starting with the day. 

(He _doesn't_ \- he thinks how many times he's imagined him waking up cuddled up next to him, nose in the crook of his neck, and pulling _him_ closer instead.)

He thinks of all the little things he's grown familiar with that it never even crossed his mind that they won't last forever, or that they're not something most roommates do. 

He thinks of shared clothes and shared jokes and shared habits and a shared life he doesn't want to share with anyone else. Can't even imagine sharing with anyone else. 

Yeah, he's definitely going to ruin everything.

His phone buzzes and snaps him out of the self-induced thought whirlwind, only to give him whiplash as he reads

**Tommy**

where r u

He blinks a few times, for good measure, just to make sure he's not imagining it. This has to be a joke. Nonetheless, he replies, 

Airport

In the middle of writing, _You wished me a safe flight, like, last evening, remember? I'm going home for the holidays?,_ a new message pops up. 

where at the airport 

Which absolutely bedazzles him. He presses the little phone icon and not even a ring later, Thomas picks up. 

"Tommy, what's going on? Are you alri-" 

"Just tell me where you are." 

There's a suspicious amount of background noise coming from the call, and Newt feels like he's going insane as he asks, 

"Are you here?"

"Well obviously not since I can't fucking find you." 

And, just because he feels extremely stupid at that moment, he asks, 

"You're at the airport?" 

"Yes, Newt, I'm at the airport." 

"But- Did I forget something?" 

He runs through all important documents that might've prompted Thomas to drive 2 hours to deliver them, but he clearly remembers packing them all. To his utter surprise, Thomas replies, 

"Yes. Please, can you just tell me where you are?" 

So he tells him the number of the gate he's sitting in front of and checks the time. 

Fifteen minutes until he has to board. 

He hears him before he sees him, and as he stands up to meet him, Thomas halts in front of him, panting, and holds up a hand as he turns away to catch his breath. 

He's still wearing his pajama bottoms. 

"Christ, Tommy, did you run all the way here? Do you wanna sit down?" 

Thomas shakes his head, taking a couple more deep breaths, before speaking, 

"No- No, I need. I need to ask you something."

"Okay?" 

He shrugs his school bag off his shoulders. 

"But I need you to be completely honest with me." 

To which his heart sinks right into the pit of his stomach. Thomas just keeps looking at him, eyes wide, pleading, fiddling restlessly with the strap of his bag. 

"Can you do that for me?" 

"I'll try." 

Thomas nods once, bites his lip and pulls out the folder in which he keeps letters and postcards that mean the world to him, and slides out

The Painting.

It takes everything in Newt not to pass out right then and there. 

He forgot to put it back. 

Thomas holds it out for him with a trembling hand and looks him in the eye as he asks, 

"Did you mean this? _Do you_ mean this, Newt?"

He knows Thomas knows the answer. They both do. Still, Thomas waits, desperation growing on him more each passing second.

There is no way around it. No easy exits, no rewinds to a month ago when they weren't aware of heavy truths sitting between them, unpacked. 

Newt opens his mouth and says, 

"Yes."

Thomas lets out a breath, like he drove a fist through his chest, 

and then, he drops his bag and pulls Newt down into a kiss. 

And Newt's heart just about flies right out of his chest. 

He tastes like toothpaste and locks their lips firmly, briefly, before leaning back. When Newt opens his eyes, he finds Thomas breathing inches away from his face, looking slightly terrified, and before he has time to overthink it, Newt leans back in and kisses him a bit softer, intuitively circling a hand around his waist and pulling him in a little closer. He kisses him and smiles into it, and Thomas kisses him and smiles into it too, and as the announcement booms that it's his time to board the plane, they're laughing and kissing and holding each other close and his brain is about to short-circuit with the amount of happiness he never believed he would feel. 

As the speakers boom again, announcing the last chance to board the 1pm flight to London, Newt's heart breaks just a little as he leans back and looks into Thomas's wide eyes and says, 

"I really have to go now." 

"I know," he replies, and he looks apologetic as he slides out of Newt's arms, unnatural cold taking his place. He hands him his bag, and as he shoulders it, feeling dizzy, Thomas asks, 

"You have your passport?" 

"Yeah." 

"Plane ticket?" 

"Yeah." 

"Headphones?" 

Newt laughs softly. "Yeah, Tommy, I've packed everything. Don't worry." 

"Okay," he adds quietly, and he looks so small standing there, an arm crossed over his chest, and Newt wants to kiss him again, but he's already running late.

"I'll uh. I'll see you? Soon?"

"Yeah. Soon." 

As he smiles and turns to leave, Thomas grabs his hand. 

"Newt-" 

He doesn't finish the sentence, but Newt knows what he means even though he can't find the words for it either. He runs a thumb over his knuckles and says, 

"I'll text you when I land." 

"Okay."

Before he disappears behind the barrier, Newt looks back one last time and catches Thomas's eye. He raises a hand and wiggles his fingers as a salute, and Newt realizes he's still holding the painting. Feeling warm and surreal, he waves back, grinning, and bites his lip as he turns and, at long last and just in time, boards the plane home. 

First thing he does when he lands is text Thomas. 

Second thing he does is squish his sister and parents into a much-needed, long-awaited hug. 

Third thing he does is call his therapist, for the first time in four years, and schedules an appointment. 

She was kind enough to make room for a session in the week between Christmas and New Year's, and as he takes the seat in front of her again, he's overcome with the realization of how different he is from the Newt who took that same seat for the first time about seven years ago, and how proud he is of his growth. 

Back then, he was grasping straws for a reason to stay alive, caving in under the expectations - both his own and others'- that he just couldn't live up to. 

Now, he needs someone to keep him accountable as he continues to grow into the person he wants to be - someone who doesn't self-sabotage the moment he experiences something he doesn't feel worthy of, or capable of maintaining. 

He's come a long way - he's confident and satisfied with the life he's built and the people he's surrounded himself with, and he knows, in his head moreso than in his heart, that he deserves it, too.

What he hasn't been confronted with in years, though, is change - he's lived in a bubble of comfortable stability, getting more and more familiar with Being Enough, with loving and allowing himself to be loved, so much so that he turned blind to subtle changes - and the progression of time. 

And now, with all of the subtle changes catching up with him to form a big, formidable Change, he's terrified. So naturally, with that fear, his old fears and insecurities have invited themselves back to the party as well. 

But he won't let them backtrack him anymore. 

So, when his therapist smiles at him warmly and asks, 

"How are you, Newt?" 

, he takes a deep breath and starts talking. 

The holidays fly by, days filled with cookie baking, movie watching, TV show binging, board and card game nights dressed in the ugliest matching pajamas possible (Christmas themed, of course) and overall quality family get-together time. 

He facetimes Thomas every day, each providing live footages of holiday chaos from their respective sides of the ocean. 

Sonya introduces him to her lovely girlfriend, Harriet, who plays cello at the orchestra at her ballet-musical academy, and his heart swells with joy at the sight of his little sister finally embracing who she is. Late at night, when the rest of the house is asleep, they catch each other up on the gossip and drama they've left out during the semester, theatrically reenacting the juiciest parts and muffling their hysterical laughter with pillows so as not to prompt a verbal ass-whooping from their mother the next morning. 

When it's time to board a flight back, he is sad to leave, but he knows he'll always have them to come back to. Nothing ties him to England other than his family, after all - his life is on the other side of the globe. And when he arrives, Thomas is there to welcome him back. 

In their room, they sit cross-legged on the carpet between their beds, facing each other and holding hands. They talk openly and honestly about their expectations and the direction they want to go in, and it’s scary and a bit awkward to be so vulnerable, to put one's heart and soul onto a platter and offer it to another person for judgement - but Thomas doesn't judge, and neither does he. 

Change may be terrifying, but it's also what makes life exciting. The future is terrifying too because it's uncertain, but they can shape it in the present with their choices - so they choose each other, they decide to walk through this new chapter in their lives one day at a time, and all they can do is try their best.

And maybe, just maybe, he won't ruin everything after all. 

⭐⭐⭐

There's a boy who paints the same face every time a brush lands on his canvas. It comes naturally, unquestionably. That same face looks up at him from his chest, yawning and murmuring a _mornin' sunshine_ before cuddling up closer still, like he's soaking up his boyfriend's warmth before starting with the day. 

Some changes have been made to the room - the beds have been pushed together, for one, and a painting labelled _~~Loneliness~~ ~~Companionship~~ Love _has been taped to the wall above them. As the morning Sun shies its way into the room, the fake stars stop glowing and the art student kisses the top of his roommate's head, reveling in the scene and, for the first time, feeling too lazy to get up. 

_you're in love with your best friend_

_and you're scared because he has all the means to crush your heart and leave you bleeding on the bathroom floor_

_but_

_what if he doesn't?_

_what if he takes care of it instead?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH WE'VE COME TO THE END!!!! tell me all ur thoughts please!!!! ALSO to my wonderful giftee sami, i truly hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!!!!!!!!!!!!! happy holidays!!!!!!!!!!!!


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